The Witch

Via: Daily Prompt – Outlier

 

Image: Pixabay

I have said this before: being raised abroad and then in the city made childhood visits to my maternal grandparents quite an adventure. My baby brother and I were treated like royalties and, apart from spoiling us a bit, it also made us feel extremely coddled. Each time the car doors slid open, we would rush into our grandmother’s arms. Then we would look over her shoulders to the well-governed agricultural surrounding and feel even giddier at the prospect of being exposed to so much nature. Not that the adults ever let us stray too far out of their sights. Not that we didn’t give escape a good try anyway and succeed.

Among one of our favorite haunts was to visit the old witch who lived on the edge of the village. She was still quite within the bounds of the neighborhood but her two-story delipidated ranch house was set all the way to where the mustard fields touched the hamlet. Her two-story ranch house was the only two-story ranch house of its kind in the village, for that matter.

Its wooden frames had browned with age and become swollen in places. Most of the exterior walls of the structure had come loose so that we could easily glimpse into its innards through the gaps and see how vacant and lifeless the rooms were. When she moved around in the house – and she was the restless sort – the creaks could be heard all the way across her barren yard to the copse in which my cousins and I hid to watch her. 

That Old Dude

Via: Daily Prompt – Murmuration & Record

Image: Max Pixel CC

Over the past five years, more and more salt strands have been peeking out of my peppery tresses. I make a point not to hide my premature grays for two reasons: One, I truly do believe they are my wisdom highlights, and B, they help to ward off my archaic relatives’ not-so-subtle-hints on the long overdue marital status. I literally put in efforts toward getting too long in the tooth to become an on-the-shelf spinster. And just when I put my feet up and blow out that sigh of relief, believing that the years of danger have passed, someone ducks their head into our house and asks when am I going to settle down with a nice man. It’s like the record player is broken and plays the same tune over and over again regardless of which album is in the tray. Grr…

Enter That Old Dude. I have never met him before but, apparently, he is a distant cousin of Dad’s who was a big support during his college dorm days. This guy pays a visit yesterday evening (totally out of the blue), tells Mom he’s been hankering for some home cooked fish dish I never heard of (which Mom graciously obliges to prepare), and then presumes to give me a talk on how in his old age it’s a sincere wish to see grandchildren. Seriously, I never met the guy but he is of the mind that my kids (if I ever have any) will be his grandchildren.

I looked at Dad and he sort of shrunk away from my gaze. So I decided to take pity on the general male species for the day. I smiled and asked if the Old Dude did not have children of his own to place this request to. All politeness and murmurs, if you please.

The Escape Artist

Via: Daily Prompt – Jiggle

Image: Zaireen Lupa

Mickey’s spirit was contagious. When he was alive, he would keep our entire household occupied with his antics. Throughout the day, our emotions ran the gamut with admiration, contentment, joy, surprise, vigilance, apprehension, exasperation, submission – all according to how Mickey was behaving at the moment. One thing we never became was bored. Even when he was resting, he would engage our attention by continuously swishing his tail. He had us enthralled.

But oh, boy! did he get into capers! One of the most common scenes in our home was him getting out the balcony or window, his body shimmying through the bars, his bottom jiggling with effort, while we rushed from all sides to grab him before he escaped. “Quick! He’s getting away!” was something every one of us said numerous times a week. He got away every time despite the practice he gave us. He loved the outdoors, our Mickey. And it wasn’t that we wanted to keep him locked in; Mickey just kept getting into scrapes with the neighborhood cats and returning hurt. Mickey was very trusting of others.

The most gullible yet empathetic feline I have ever had the privilege of making acquaintance.

 

Welcome to the Jungle (02 min read)

Via: Daily Prompt – Squat

Image: Zaireen Lupa

That moment when you hear the front door open and then the clamorous laughter of that nosy aunt who’s always trying to get you married off to someone from her endless list of prized bachelors drifts your way. You crouch low with ears trained, wondering if your mother will reveal that you’re home – wondering if jumping off the balcony would be too drastic a measure of escape.

Oh no! Your mother has indeed disclosed your whereabout. As you hear the enemy approach, you realize that there’s no second route from your room to the nearest exit of the house. So you run to your brother’s empty room and wait. Hopefully, they won’t think to look for you here… 

Pet People

Via: Daily Prompt – Filter

We were never pet people. Ours was a family compassionate to animals when the situation dictated but never imagined that one day we would have a set among our ranks. However, in the spring of 2009, three little surprise visitors forever changed the scheme of our household as they crept into our hearts and buried their claws deep.

It all started in the month of May when a giant ginger tom kept sneaking into our guest room. Mom had been insisting there was a cat living under the guest bed but, having searched the premises and finding no four-legged critter, we dismissed it as a random incident. But the cat sightings continued and with increasing frequency.